


Shed Our Stains Showering In the Room that Makes the Rain

by astrothsknot



Series: Blood//Water [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Character Study, Consent is Sexy, Devil Trigger, Dry Humping, F/M, First Time, Forced Orgasm, Grieving, Kyrie is an actual person, Kyrie pulls Nero's Devil trigger, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Mention of Credo, Nero and Kyrie are so sweet you'll get diabetes, Porn with Feelings, She has plans and everything, Women paying the price for men's sins, character study through sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 22:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15738471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrothsknot/pseuds/astrothsknot
Summary: Kyrie told Nero that he was himself and that was who she wanted.But who is Kyrie?





	Shed Our Stains Showering In the Room that Makes the Rain

Shed Our Stains Showering In the Room that Makes the Rain

 

In Fortuna, jeans are kinky.

 

  
Life after the Saviour goes back to normal. But nothing goes back to normal. The Army come in and help rebuild for the victims of the earthquake – earthquake! – but they won’t stay. Maybe it’s rumours of the natural hallucinogens that escaped and had people talking of moving statutes. It’s doesn’t take long for the gawkers and the UFO crowd to wander in. Some take advantage of it, playing heavily on their simple people shtick. Others just want them gone. Fortuna always had ways of keeping most of the modern world at bay and soon it will accommodate this new incursion in its own unique way .

 

Kyrie sees them watching her as she passes. She watches them just as much with their cellphones and their cameras, complaining in the cafes about the lack of wifi. The Order had wifi and computers, but ordinary Fortuna citizens hadn’t. Nero had always picked up modern things when he was away doing things on the Mainland and he brought back some things for her. Not too much, Credo was strict, and Kyrie was still too young to be rebellious, but enough.

 

Like the jeans. She has several pairs, hidden at the back of her wardrobe, not that Credo would ever look. The attire and foibles of teenage girls was a mystery to him and not one he cared to decipher.

 

Oh, he could ply her with jewellery and books, trinkets and ornaments for her room and her hair, vaguely disapproving of the flashier sets, but saying nothing when she wore them. Because women like pretties, don’t they?

  
Kyrie is Order, so while she has to wear her uniform, gold on white. She doesn’t need to cover her head though, unlike non-Order citizens. It makes her feel oddly naked when the tourists stare at her. She doesn’t hide though, try and make herself smaller. Why should she? She’s done nothing wrong and yet she’s the one who’s suffered for it .

 

Kyrie isn’t naïve. Inexperienced, yes, but not naïve, even though everyone – Credo, His Holiness, her Singing Master, even Nero, treat her like she’s a child, precious and protected from the horrors. The demons were never the horrors. Credo must have known about the Saviour and the plans of his Holiness. He never had a problem with it until she was to form the core with Nero.

 

Her rock and protector was quite happy to use an innocent stranger to power their death statue, the one the Order had intended to set lose on the world and that’s tough for her to reconcile with the brother who laughed with her at the dinner table when she told her very bad jokes, who’d stuttered and stumbled through her getting her first period and telling her how her body would grow, that she was no longer a child, but a woman.

 

She was never treated as one.

 

Not even by Nero.

 

  
Nero, however, was the only man who tried to treat her as a person.

 

  
***

 

Kyrie has a ritual with Mainland clothes.

 

  
It’s only ever late at night, when she’s sure Credo’s gone to bed or better yet, away at the Castle or HQ. She’ll slowly and quietly pull them out from the bottom drawer of her dresser in her wardrobe, a heavy, dark mahogany. It’s huge. It used to scare her when she was younger and she’d scream out for her Mama. Credo usually got there first, checking the room for monsters, telling her Sparda chased them all away.

 

  
Bunch of fucking nonsense.

 

  
Kyrie sweeps aside the blankets on top of the boxes with her Mainland clothes and carefully takes the boxes out. She waits for a moment, savouring. Then, delicately, deliberately, she places her hands on each side of the lid and pulls up. For a second, nothing happens. The boxes are well made and fit well. But soon there’s a quiet whoosh and they begin to separate.

 

  
She sets the lids carefully aside and looks at the contents. Plastic bags, carefully folded so the shop names are shown upwards. It’s a display the shops themselves would be proud of. She smooths them out, the crackling giving her chills. It feels so loud in the quiet of the night. She stops for a moment, cocking her head. She thought she heard a creak on the landing. Credo?

 

  
“Don’t be silly, Kyrie,” she scolds herself. “Credo’s not going to hear you.”

 

  
She doesn’t add “and he’s never going to hear you again.” She’s not ready for that yet. It’s less than a week after the Saviour and she’s not ready yet. Credo is staying overnight at HQ. He might come in early and see her light on and scold her to put it off. That happened a few times, hearing the door rattle and knock of his boots on the wood of the stair. Credo was light on his feet, but his step was always assertive. He brooked no dissent and that was echoed in his footfall.

 

  
She shivers, remembering the quick sweeping of everything into the closet, pulling on her nightdress and jumping under the covers, grabbing a music score. He’d scold her for staying up so late. Once she was out of breath from her rush and Credo had stayed for nearly an hour, talking to her, because he thought she was coming down with something because she was so flushed. She was actually boiling under the covers with her jeans and her tee-shirt under her fleece nightie. Kyrie almost thought Credo had knew she was up to something and was trying to catch her out.

 

  
She feels tears prick her eyes for a moment. He’s never going to catch her again and she can’t stop the thought.

 

  
Then she hears a soft squeak on the floor outside her room and she knows this time, it’s not her imagination.

 

  
There’s only one person it could be and the thought of his albino colouring reminds her of the Saviour and the innocent albino stranger Credo was going to murder.

 

Kyrie’s sins are so little and Credo’s were so great.

 

She thinks Nero makes a small cough and for a moment she considers letting him in, but she decides no. this ritual is hers and hers alone, her own unique worship of a land beyond Fortuna.

 

And once, just once will she be able to do it without getting caught.

 

  
Kyrie’s future stretches out before her, unknown and dizzying.

 

  
She carefully lifts the bag from the box, sets it aside, then pulls the folded blue denim out. Nero got these Jeans from his first trip to the Mainland and she’s never taken the label off. Asda a Walmart Company, it reads, price tags in a strange currency that’s totally different to Fortuna. She always traces the pound sign that looks like an old-fashioned capital L. She’s read five million of those in her time. It’s not all that different from her own writing, an elegant flowing script or Nero’s drunk spider crawling through ink.

 

  
Even the plastic tag connecting the ticket to the waist band is examined, reverently. There is very little plastic on Fortuna and what little there is, isn’t wasted on swing tickets. Kyrie looks at it for a moment, before laying the jeans on the bed. She goes to her dressing table for her scissors and very carefully, cuts the tag.

 

  
She looks at it for a long time, a feeling like she’s done something huge, that she shouldn’t have done and there’s no undoing it. She lays the tag back on the denim, against the back pocket and at first glance it’s like nothing’s changed. But she knows now that small snip has cut the jeans away and changed them, irrevocable. It feels like they’re ready to be worn.

 

  
No flying swords jump out of her wall. No black cloaked demons drip out of the shadows.

 

  
Kyrie runs a hand down the legs. the denim is soft and makes an audible shhhh as she strokes it. The action wafts their strong smell up to her – a strange smell from a strange land. They’re never been washed as they are never worn for long and Kyrie wants to keep them as close to new as possible, the way another girl would a party dress. Kyrie has plenty of those, mostly presents from Credo for her performances in Mainland Churches or theatres. Some have been made in Fortuna, some he bought for her out of expensive Mainland shops and came wrapped in tissue paper in a fancy box. The dresses were evicted from their boxes for her Asda jeans and sandalwood pomanders.

 

  
She does have one dress she really loves and can’t wear. Nero had brought it back from a shop on the Mainland. It came in a pretty cloth bag with a pair of giant red lips on it and a copyright symbol for Primark on it. It’s a lovely floral pink sundress that Nero had brought back in the spring. It had been unseasonably hot and Nero had said that he’d seen other girls wearing these dresses and he’d had a sudden picture in his mind of Kyrie in a sundress and hunted till he found one. It’s nothing that she could ever wear here.

 

  
There’s a slight scuffling noise from outside and Kyrie creeps up to the door and peaks through the keyhole. Nero’s sitting outside, slumped against the wall, elbows resting on his knees. He looks deep in thought, glancing periodically at the door. Kyrie considers opening it, but decides if he wants to talk that bad, he can knock.

 

  
She walks back to her jeans, not caring now if Nero can hear her. She hears another scuffling noise outside and the door rattles quietly in the frame. He must be listening against it. He still doesn’t knock or call her name though, so to the dogs with him.

 

  
Kyrie strips off her dress and looks at it for a moment, before balling it up and throwing it in the trash. She’s never wearing these things again.

 

  
Clad only in her underwear, Kyrie pulls out some of the magazines she could never leave out and spreads them out around her. Elle, Grazia, Vogue. She paid for them by cheque after Nero had picked some up for her and she subscribed. Credo never paid much attention to her bank account, as long as she never spent too much. He never went through her mail either, though some things she did have sent to Nero’s rooms, binding each other together with secrets.

 

  
Kyrie pulls on the jeans. She gets in to them slowly, savouring the feel of the denim enveloping her legs as she draws them up towards her waist. She can feel the fabric like a caress on her skin. She pulls on a t-shirt and knots it. Both the jeans and the t-shirt are slightly too big – Nero wasn’t really sure about her size – but she has some of Nero’s belts and that works well enough. The buckle’s big enough to reach over her waistband and dig into her stomach, but that’s ok.

 

  
She sets to clearing space for the things she has hidden away from the Mainland. She feels slight pangs as she moves some things into the closet. It maybe takes an hour – Kyrie doesn’t actually have that many things, but she still seems to have enough that she can’t clear as much space as she though she would. But she feels a little freer and that finally her most personal space actually reflects who she feels that she really is. It’s a massive relief not to have to lie any longer.

 

  
She’s brought to by a gentle knock on her door. She waits to see if he’ll walk in now – Kyrie’s actually surprised that he’s still knocking after all they’ve been through. Ten seconds pass and the knock sounds again, firmer this time. She’s tempted to let him knock a third time, but figures he’ll probably take the door off its hinges. “Come in.”

 

  
Nero walks in juggling a tray with sandwiches and coffee. It’s strange seeing his right arm holding something as mundane as a tray and wrapping around a mug of coffee. “I thought you might be hungry. I could hear banging and – wow.” Nero looks around the room, but it’s the sight of Kyrie in Mainland clothes that stops him dead. “You look amazing. Like a Mainland girl.”

 

  
They sit down together on her floor and Nero hands Kyrie her coffee. He uses his right hand as easily as his left now, when it’s just them. In public he still wears a glove, but has dispensed with the sling. Naturally, Nero is left-handed, and it’s with his left hand that he holds his mug. They sit in a companionable silence for a while as Nero idly leafs through the magazines and books Kyrie’s pulled out the closet.

 

  
“I have a t-shirt that I got on my last trip that I’m needing to bring over,” he says at last. “It’s got a logo on it.”

 

“A logo?” Kyrie repeats excitedly.

 

  
“A blue rose with crystals. It says something like “see it, believe it” in Italian.” He sips his coffee, then spots her bucket list. “I hope I’m going on your trip.” He kisses the tip of her nose playfully.

 

“Of course! After the last few days, I don’t want to be without you ever again.” Kyrie says firmly, cuddling in to him.

 

  
Nero wraps his right arm around her shoulders and leans his head on hers. “I can’t wait to stroll down the Champs Elysee with you.”

 

“We can have wine in the cafes.”

 

  
“We can have wine in the cafes here,” snorts Nero.

 

  
“You can have wine in the cafes,” Kyrie corrects him. “I have an audience because of who I am.”

 

  
“Then we’ll get drunk as lords in every single café and stumble back to the hotel,” chuckles Nero, kissing the top of her head. Kyrie raises her face to his and pulls him in for a kiss. “Kyrie – “

 

  
She cuts him off. “We don’t need to wait till Paris.” She pulls herself out of his arms and crawls over to her closet and pulls out a bottle of wine. “I liberated it from Credo’s collection. He said this was a good year.”

 

  
“Kyrie!” Nero clearly can’t reconcile Kyrie the Wine Thief with Kyrie The Choir Singer. He’s scandalised.

 

  
Kyrie laughs, a deep, throaty belly laugh. “Oh, Lord, Nero, your face!” She becomes serious, almost shy again. “I had saved it for when we…our agreement…but your arm happened.” She drops her face to the floor as her cheeks blush crimson.

 

  
“Oh. Oh. Kyrie – I…” Nero’s voice trails off as he catches what she means and it’s his turn to blush. “I wanted it to be special.”

 

  
“It will be Nero, it’s you. I told you I want you, all of you.” Kyrie presses Nero’s right hand to her lips. She shifts slightly so that she can kiss Nero. It starts gently enough, but there’s nothing chaste about it.

 

  
Nero returns the kiss, both hands coming up to Kyrie’s face. Her tongue slides into his mouth, tracing all the places she knows makes him shudder. His hands tighten on the sides of her face and feels like he’s struggling with himself. Nero breaks the kiss and tries to catch his breath, failing several times to speak. “I-I w-want you too, b-but I don’t want to rush you.”

 

  
“You’re not rushing me, Nero. I trust you,” she murmurs as she moves back in to kiss him.

 

  
He lets her for a moment, before breaking away again. “It’s been a hard week and a lot’s happened. I don’t want our first time to be because our feelings are running high.”

 

  
Kyrie tamps down the anger that wells up through before she can say something that will sting him. Again, men making decisions for her! Of course her feelings are running high – her brother’s dead, her religion is a lie, Nero and she almost died in a death statue and her brother was fine with everything until she was in said death statue. She has nothing and no one except Nero and now.

 

  
Nero must have sensed that she’s furious. “We can still open that bottle and we can watch a film. I still have my tourist phone.” He pulls out a phone from his back pocket and with his left hand taps out a password on it. Fortunese call cellphones tourist phones because it’s mostly tourists who have them. If any locals do have them, they tend to keep them under wraps. “it should be good to the end of the month. Might as well use the data while I can.”

 

  
Nero’s phone is enough to distract her, hungry as she is for anything of the Mainland she’s determined to have in her future. “You can watch a film on it? Really?”

 

  
“Sure. You’ll need to find something. I can only do it one handed. I’ll open this wine. We’ll just have to use these cups, so it might taste of coffee.” Nero’s babbling, like he’s trying to sooth a savage beast. Kyrie takes the phone and follows his directions to bring up a video site. He guides her to a choice of rom coms. She picks Dirty Dancing and resists Nero trying to talk her out of it. It’s hardly the best film for two hormonal, emotional teenagers to be watching.

 

  
Nero opens the wine with his right hand, claws digging the cork out and Kyrie giggles. “My new party trick,” grins Nero. “We’ll never need a bottle opener again.”

 

  
The wine tastes of coffee, but it’s not unpleasant and Kyrie settles back down against Nero as he balances the phone on his knees. Neither the pair of them have any real tolerance for alcohol and it’s not long before they’re both a little tipsy. They’ve got through barely half a bottle between them and Kyrie decides to chance her arm again. Nero’s absently trailing his claws up and down her arm and it’s a deliciously different sensation to his left hand.

  
The wine has made her bold and Kyrie shifts in Nero’s arms, pulling him down towards her. This time he doesn’t resist her and he meets her kisses with no hesitation. His tongue slides into her mouth, tracing patterns on its roof and it’s all Kyrie can do to concentrate on enjoying the moment and not rush it. She still has the fear that Nero is like a nervy horse – one wrong move and he’d break it off again. They aren’t gentle kisses, but they aren’t hard either. They are slow and sensual, a little clumsy because of the wine, but both of them know their way around the other’s mouth. Kyrie’s always hoped Nero would make love they way he kissed, the way the men in the books she shouldn’t read do.

 

  
The angle is awkward for both of them and now that everything’s connecting up right in her body, she figures it must be in his as well. He’s kissing her they way he normally does when they’re making out and it’s so damn good after all this time. He hasn’t touched her like this since his shoulder was damaged. Somewhere in her mind that isn’t shorting out, she compares the feel of his different hands and realises with a start that she’s turned up so high by the idea of his scales brushing her naked skin. A wild thought of rutting with him in a demon form, like she saw Dante take, flits across her minds’ eye and it’s almost too damn much.

 

  
Nero’s a good kisser, especially now he seems lost in the sensations Kyrie’s pulling from his body. He’s kissing her harder now and she chances a change in position, slowly turning round and moving on to her knees. Nero doesn’t stop, just runs with the new access it gives him to her mouth and her body. He’s careful to keep one hand on her face and other roams her back. Kyrie’s own hands run over his chest, slowly at first, but getting quicker as the hormones rise. Nero moans into her mouth and she notes exactly where that was. She’ll head there when the clothes are off.

 

  
Kyrie’s skin is on fire and it feels like it wants to crawl off her bones. It’s nothing compared to the sensations that are beginning in her core. The way she’s sitting, the seam of her jeans is catching her little nub and it’s making waves pulse through her as she rocks into it. Nero’s perceptive - you have to be when you’re a warrior or you’d be dead – and he responds to her reactions by dropping a hand to her waist and stroking the exposed skin between the denim and the knotted cotton.

 

  
Oh, Sparda’s balls, it’s his right hand. He’s dragging a gentle claw along her skin and she can’t…she just can’t. Somehow Kyrie manages to swing a leg over Nero without kicking him in the face or kneeing him in the balls and they both gasp as she thumps down onto his lap. Nero pulls back, panting hard and drinking in her face. His pupils are blown wide and Kyrie knows that at this moment, anything he asks of him, he’ll agree to. That knowledge makes her feel powerful in a deep and ancient way.

 

  
She can feel Nero’s erection underneath her and the idea that they’re separated only by a few layers of denim is driving her insane. Nero’s gripping her shoulders tight, unconsciously pressing her down. This usually where their makeout sessions end, release without temptation. Kyrie starts grind down on Nero’s trapped prick and a look of pure bliss washes over his face. He grips her shoulders so tight that his right hand pierces her thin cotton tee-shirt. It doesn’t pierce her skin, but Kyrie thinks he must have marked her. The seam of her jeans catches her clit, sending sparks of fire racing through her body. She’s never worn jeans when they’ve made out before and it’s unlike anything she’s ever felt. Kyrie can’t imagine the real thing feeling any better than this.

 

  
Nero surges forward, his hungry mouth capturing hers in a demanding kiss. His tongue sweeps around her mouth, hitting all the spots that make her quicken her rhythm. Her tongue slides over his just as desperately, for all the world as if they’re duelling. It’s actually closer to his fighting style than she dared hope, all wide swings and forceful attacks. Kyrie reaches past Nero to push a hand to her bed, using it as leverage to press harder against Nero. Her hips rock faster and faster as the seam tortures her little nub, sending waves pulsing through her body in time to her thundering heart.

  
She’s nearly there when Nero growls into her mouth and she feels his prick twitch thrice under her. He pulls away, dropping a hand to her hips to still her and a hand to cup her face, kissing her deeply, but tenderly as he comes down. His face is flushed and his eyes are blown wide, the Mediterranean blue almost edged out with his pupils. He’s panting like they’ve been fighting. It takes him several goes to get her name out and he actually has to reach for the bottle of wine and swig it before he can say a clear word.

 

  
“Kyrie, that was…It’s never…oh, my Lord,” Nero finally manages to pant out. Kyrie licks his lips in response. Nero groans.

 

  
“I’m not finished,” she whispers, dropping feathery kisses over Nero’s face.

 

  
“I think I am,” Nero sighs, ruefully.

 

  
This is the point where they would usually stop, sated but unshamed. Not tonight, Kyrie doesn’t want any more barriers between them. She considers her next move as Nero strokes her back and drinks in her face. She pours more wine into their cups, handing Nero his. He sips it while he’s watching her. Kyrie runs her hands idly over her his chest and over his right arm.

 

  
“What does it look like?” she asks. “I want to see.”

 

  
“You’ve seen me before, when we’ve been like this,” teases Nero.

 

  
“When I said she yearns for your touch, I wasn’t talking about your sword,” Kyrie admonishes him. “I haven’t seen you since your shoulder was hurt.”

 

  
“You weren’t talking about my sword? Aww, damn.” Nero pouts.

 

  
Kyrie thumps Nero and starts pulling on his hoodie.

 

  
“Ow! I thought you wanted this to be special. I’m being abused.” Nero grabs the neck of his tops and pulls them off. The cuff of his hoodie gets caught on the elbow-guard-scale-thing and it takes the two of them to work it over. Kyrie tosses it aside and turns back to look at Nero. He looks very shy and uncertain as her eyes roam over her lover, but she knows that he will not turn her away. He watches her face closely for her reaction.

 

  
It’s been a long time since Kyrie has seen him like this, at least six months by her reckoning. He’s a little more muscular than the last time she saw him, but he’s still wiry and lithe. She takes a deep, contented sigh and starts tracing patterns on his torso, noting where he jumps or his breath hitches. His chest is smooth, but there’s a smattering of white hair working down under his waistband, matching the hair in his armpits. Nero’s losing his shyness as he starts to react to Kyrie’s touch and his arms move to hold her. She playfully bats them down and waggles her finger at him. He opens his mouth to protest, but it’s swallowed by Kyrie’s kiss. There’s nothing playful about this kiss, nothing hesitant, nothing soft. Kyrie’s not the girl he used to know and she’s not yet the woman she’s intent on becoming, but she’s channelling everything she is into the kiss.

 

  
What she is, is a mass of rage and grief and love and want crammed into a girlish body and her nerves are singing with it and the power it brings. Not magic, but something deeper and more ancient. She wants to tear off their clothes and sheathe herself to the hilt upon him, but not yet. By sheer force of will, she pushes it back a little as she pulls back to explore more of Nero’s body. He’s starting to come back up under her touch and she wriggles a little to hear him moan under her body. Kyrie begins dropping kisses over Nero’s face and shoulders, mouthing the shape of his muscles a she goes. She intersperses them with hard, deep kisses of Nero’s mouth and she definitely thinks he’ll fuck how he fights. It’s all Nero can do to control himself. She can tell by the way he’s shaking. She doesn’t have the art for what she’d really like to do and Nero doesn’t have the control for how she’s teasing him. They’re too young and too inexperienced. Nero’s gripping her hips hard and his claws have definitely cut her this time. It cuts across her desire and she hisses with the pain.

 

  
Nero pulls back instantly. “Kyrie? What is it?”

 

  
Kyrie shakes her head, panting too much to speak as she tries to pull him back into a kiss. Nero resists, stroking her hair with his right hand. She gestures to the bottle of wine and Nero uses his power to haul it to them. They both take a gulp from it, before Kyrie speaks and gestures to the wardrobe. “There’s another bottle over there. Do that again.”  
Nero looks doubtful, but does it anyway. He opens it using his new party trick and passes it to her. She takes a large swig of the wine and looks at the bottle. “Credo was so proud of his wine cellar. He’d be horrified that we’re drinking out the bottle.” She scrowls. “Good.”

 

She passes the bottle to Nero, who has a smaller sip, before carefully setting the bottle aside. He takes a deep breath before asking, “Do you want to go on?”

 

Kyrie gently interlaces her fingers with his right hand and begins to massage the palm. Nero’s breath becomes shallow and he can’t meet her eyes as she works her way along his arm. It doesn’t feel anything like she expected. When she was about 8, the orphanage had gone to the zoo. There had been a man there and he’d had a garter snake called Jimmy wrapped around his hand. He’d allowed Kyrie and Nero to stroke Jimmy. The scales had been warm, waxy and dry and that’s how Nero’s arm feels. The energy within it is glowing, moving through various red and orange shades. The way he’s shivering as she traces the edges of the scales, drawing her nails along the crest, tells her that it’s every bit as sensitive as human skin. Above the elbow and leading up to his shoulder the scales follow the shape of his human arm and look like the leather braiding on Yamato. They catch the light as his bicep flexes.

 

  
Kyrie sets Nero’s hand on her ass before pulling off her t-shirt. Nero mutters something she can’t make out as she picks it back up and places it on her stomach, running it over her skin. Nero gets the hint and begin running both hands over her back, her sides, her breasts. The lace of her bra snags slightly with the roughness of his scales and the sound sends shivers down her spine. He’s kissing her again and it’s a hard, demanding kiss, like he’s trying to get right down inside her. Kyrie can feel under her leg that he’s fully hard again. She dimly remembers reading in one of her books that if a man comes, it takes a while for him to come again and she decides that she doesn’t want this going on so long that Nero comes in his jeans again.

 

  
“Nero,” she whispers into his mouth between kisses. “I’m ready.”

 

  
Nero doesn’t say anything, just gives a slight nod before he begins to undo his belt and jeans. Kyrie for her part slides more easily out of hers, noting dimly that her underwear is sodden. She’s naked before he is and suddenly she feels nervous rather than sexy. She finds the wine and takes a huge swig. By now, Nero is out of his jeans and boots and Oh Fortuna! He’s beautiful. He’s tall.

 

  
He’s huge.

 

  
For a minute, Kyrie has second thoughts or maybe Nero has second thoughts, because for a good minute, neither of them move. Nero doesn’t take his eyes off her and Kyrie can’t stop looking at his dick. Her mind races back to the books and the manuals she’s read and suddenly all the references to stretching and filling make sense. How the hell can that be fun? It sounds painful. She’s read that it really hurts the first time and from the sounds of it, it must hurt all the time. Not that she’ll say any of this to Nero, in case he really does have second thoughts and bolts. It’s taken months to get here and despite her misgivings – this is happening.

 

  
Unconsciously, Kyrie’s fingers go to her clit and start to rub. The sensations shooting all through her core and through her body tell her that someone’s lying somewhere. Her fingers are soaked with her secretions, just like she read they would be. She chances a slim finger right up inside herself and yelps.

 

  
Nero’s beside her in a flash, stilling her hand with his right hand, while she grits out that she’s ok in breaths that so shallow she doesn’t know how she doesn’t pass out. Oxygen helps, right? She’s sure she read that in her books as well.

 

  
Nero catches quick that she’s not in pain and replaces her fingers with his. She feels his left hand start to rub her little clit and shakes her head, gesturing to the right hand. She’s lost the ability to speak since he touched her there, but the idea of his right hand with its claws and scales has turned her whole body molten. She can’t even stay upright anymore, lying back amidst the wreckage of her childhood bedroom.

 

  
Nero for his part is a little doubtful when she indicates which hand she’d prefer. He very carefully keeps the pads of his fingers rubbing at her clit, probably a lot too hard and not how she’d really like it. It doesn’t look like how Kyrie was touching herself.

 

  
“Nero. Nero! Please…in me,” she gasps as she writhes on the carpet, under his touch.

 

  
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers. “I’m left handed. I don’t have the control with this hand to touch you how you want.”

 

  
She’s not quite sure how she does it and she’s moving quick enough that Nero barely registers her, but Kyrie grabs his wrist and shoves his hand down to her wet opening. The middle two fingers slide in. It’s tight and Kyrie squirms and mewls, but she’s holding on to Nero’s wrist for grim death. “Nero, please,” she begs like there’s no air in her lungs. “You can’t hurt me.”

 

  
It looks like there’s a struggle going on in Nero. It plays across his flushed and shining face. His eyes meet hers and lock and with a growl he moves, whole hand laid against her cunt and the heel on her clit. The claws do catch her on the inside, but it’s a sharpness that brings a sweet sting to the waves of sensation that are blacking out her vision as her heart hammers in her chest. Her grip shifts to his bicep as he grinds his hand against her cunt, inside and out. It’s not quite like how she imagined it after reading her books, but Nero’s young and lacks knowledge of her body. He’s more heavy-handed than he needs to be.

 

  
He gets her there all the same. Nero’s fingers feel huge inside her as they move and press, scales rubbing rough on her sensitive walls. He’s lying along side her, left hand fisted in her hair to keep her face turned to him. not that Kyrie could look away, even if she wanted to. The look in his eyes and on his face is an adorable mixture of desire and concentration.

 

  
Even so, there’s a hint of darkness underlying it and for a moment she shivers at the though of what he could do if he really let go. She has a brief vision of him fucking her with his devil trigger after a bloody battle, slain demons around her and it puzzles her for a moment, as it’s not her memory and it’s not Nero’s devil trigger. It passes as her body is hit by wave after wave of liquid fire that sears through her skin. She thinks she might have screamed Nero’s name and she’s glad Credo’s dead and can’t hear her.

 

  
It doesn’t stop. Nero doesn’t know to take his hand away from an overstimulated clit and keeps up the pressure. She’s dimly aware that she’s banged her knee off the furniture as she convulses under Nero’s touch, but it’s not enough to throw her out of her altered state. She’s babbling nonsense, his name, entreating deities, I love you, begging him to stop, pleading with him not to, beseeching him to fuck her now oh please god Nero. She doesn’t know what the hell she’s saying.

 

  
Nero kissing her all the while and it’s clear whatever control he’s been holding on to is slipping. Kyrie would almost swear that there’s a red tinge to his eyes. There’s another flash of a man who looks like Nero, but isn’t and the woman who is not her on the battlefield, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes. Somehow she knows Nero saw it too. His kisses are deep and frantic, like the kisses of a dying man.

 

  
The sensations in her body don’t stop as Nero removes his hand. Kyrie has no time to notice the emptiness in her cunt as a new sensation replaces it and there’s a weight on her body restricting her breathing. Of their own accord her legs cross over Nero’s ass, pressing him onward. She dimly realises that his dick is nudging into her entrance and she barely has time to adjust to the intrusion before Nero’s hips jerk and he slams in hard. There’s a searing pain from deep within her as her most intimate muscles are stretched too fast to take him filling her.

 

  
She gives a sobbing breath as her back arches with the pain. It shocks her more than she thought it would. She’s had worse pains, but it’s the location more than anything. Nero’s gone still, but she thinks it’s more adjusting to the new sensation than concern for her. He’s shaking above her, resting his forehead against hers. His eyes are shut tight and he’s panting like he’s fighting, fisting his hands in her hair. She can’t turn her head but she thinks she can see a blue aura surrounding them. The air is fairly crackling with energy but she can’t sure that it’s from them and how drunk on sensation they are.

 

  
Nero rocks his hips a little, side to side and Kyrie keens under the movement. The pain’s faded as she’s adjusted to him, but she still feels so full. At the sound, Nero opens his eyes and they’re fully red. “Kyrie,” he says and his voice is deeper and distorted. “I’ve got more control while I’m in it than out trying not to.”

 

  
Kyrie doesn’t say that she damn well hopes so, but her options are limited at the moment, so she just nods and whispers, “All of you, Nero.” She pulls him down the few inches between them to kiss him. She tries to make the kiss sweet and romantic, sliding her tongue gently around his mouth, and he tries to keep it there, but they’re both too close to the edge that they really both just want to fall off the cliff. It’s not long before they’re kissing like they’re drowning. Kyrie can feel hands in her hair that are solid and insubstantial at the same time and when she runs her hands over Nero’s back she can feel them pass through that same energy. It feels like it accepts her and it makes her wonder about their demons – are they two beings sharing a body or two forms of the one soul?

 

  
Nero begins to move and the motion drives all coherent thought out of her head. He begins slow and gentle and God yes, it’s good, but it’s not what she wants. Nero picks up speed and oh, sweet Lord he does fuck like he fights – over-committed, forceful and dealing as much damage as he can. Truth be told, he does hurt Kyrie a little every time he rams home, but it’s only because Nero’s the first , she’s not used to anything there and he’s never let her come down since he took a hand to her clit and cunt. It doesn’t stop her nerves singing with the pleasure and his weight on her limits her movement and her breath. She’s deliciously trapped under him and she understands the joke in one of her magazines.

 

  
What’s your goal weight? My lover’s body on top of me.

 

  
Oh by the Saviour – he’s going to force her to keep coming and there’s nothing she can do about it. She doesn’t know how much more she can do of this. Kyrie doesn’t want to pass out like the women in her books. She wants to experience everything because she’s alive to celebrate everything. Credo’s dead, but they aren’t, they aren’t joined in a fucking death statue, they’re joined on her messy floor and oh Lord, she’s coming again. Her cunt spasms in time to Nero’s thrusts and he almost loses it for a second as his dick’s gripped tighter than he would have imagined. A look of pure, unbridled happiness passes over his face and it makes her heart sing to see it.

 

  
His rhythm does stutter for a second, but he must find some inner strength or something because he picks it back up like he’s never missed a beat as Kyrie writhes under him. She can’t help herself, she’s fucking sobbing with the vastness of the sensations across her raw nerves and rawer emotions. Kyrie can't tear her eyes from his and she’s lost in a sea of red. She’s light and flying and liquid and she’s clearly having some kind of personality breakdown or psychic vision because she can’t tell where he starts and she ends. The only thing grounding her to reality is the fill of his dick in her cunt, his sweat soaked skin slicking against her shaking body and his laboured breathing fluttering the hair round her face.

 

  
It almost feels like it’s an ancient ritual honouring a Goddess. The sounds he’s drawing from her sound to him like a litany and her name is a blessing on his lips. He looks at her with wonder and awe, beautiful and sacred as she is, coming undone at the pleasure he can feel within her. It feels like the kind of act that could fuel great magics or invoke Gods. He’s in devil trigger, his truest form and just as she promised, Kyrie has taken all that Nero is and all he has to offer and returned it in kind.

 

  
Both of them understand now. In Nero’s thrusts, in Kyrie’s open body clinging to him they have created physical and spiritual binds that not even Death or Hell or Heaven could break. Everything they’ve been through was preparing them for this.

 

  
The implications are terrifying. They accept each other as they are, but who are they?

 

  
Kyrie feels him start to lose his rhythm as he drives her to another climax and Nero can’t hold it off this time. “Kyrie,” he gasps.

 

  
“Nero,” she whispers and it’s permission.

 

  
She feels him slam hard and his dick shudder thrice, before he falls boneless upon her, as each holds the other through their orgasm, never taking their eyes away from each other as the world becomes real again and the danger in the touch fades.

 

  
Neither speaks. All they have is nothing and now and each other.

 


End file.
